


The Search for Alice in Wonderland

by PeopleInThatBackRoom



Category: 2P Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Alice in Wonderland, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-22
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:39:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9854243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleInThatBackRoom/pseuds/PeopleInThatBackRoom
Summary: Alice is playing outdoors when she spies a White Rabbit with a pocket watch. Fascinated by the sight, she follows the rabbit down the hole. After a few minutes go by, her older sister sends their brother Ivan out looking for her.Oh, and, he ends up in Wonderland, too.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [short sweet and reckless (just another description of me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5251295) by [redlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlight/pseuds/redlight). 



All in the golden afternoon 

Full leisurely she glides;

For both her oars, with little skill, 

By little arms are plied

While the hands of our traveler fights Fate in vain

His mission having only wanderings to guide.

 

Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour,

Beneath such dreamy weather, 

To beg a tale of breath too weak

To stir the tiniest feather!

Yet what can one poor voice avail

Against three tongues together?

 

Imperious Perseverance flashes forth

Her edict “to begin it”—

In gentler tones Mischief hopes

“There will be nonsense in it”—

While Fate interrupts the tale

Not more than once a minute.

 

'Anon, to sudden silence won,

In fancy they pursue 

The dream-child moving through a land

Of wonders wild and new,

In friendly chat with bird or beast—

And all the while, our traveler tries to move forward.

 

And ever, as the story drained

The wells of fancy dry,

And faintly strove that weary one

To put the subject by,

“The rest next time—“ “It is next time!”

The happy voices cry.

Thus grew the tale of Wonderland:

Thus slowly, one by one, 

Its quaint events were hammered out—

And now the tale is done,

And home we steer, weary traveler and dream-child in hand,

Beneath the setting sun.

 

Alice! A childish story take,

And with a gentle hand

Lay it where Childhood's dreams are twined 

In Memory's mystic band 

Like pilgrim's withered wreath of flowers

Plucked in a far-off land. 

 

Yet, even as this tale ends

Many more take its place,

As champion and sister dear

Go onward with Time

So comes a winter day

And a Looking Glass

To intertwine many—

A hobby Fate and her companions alike enjoy

As it keeps them all busy.


	2. Down The Rabbit Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again.”

When Ivan was called by his older sister, the very last thing he expected was a task of this proportion—you see, when his sister called upon him, he was in the middle of knitting a hat for their other sister, who had recently lost hers while out spending time with her friends at the park.

Yes, he did realize that they could easily go and look for it, but he felt as if he should give her a hat of his own making to replace the lost one. It was in her favorite colors, the hat he was making was: a silvery-like color decorated with deep blue hearts, with her initials at the bottom.

He was just about done with, only needing to put a few finishing touches here and there before he presented it to his little sister, and in turn felt rather disappointed that he was disturbed.

"Ivan," his older sister called again. "Please, come here."

"Yes, big sister." he said, putting down his knitting needles and the nearly complete garment to see what was the matter with his older sibling. She, the sensitive soul, was standing in the kitchen occasionally glancing at the window to the backyard.

 _Perhaps_ , he thought to himself. There was some sort of creature outside that bothered her. He'd find out in a second, of course.

"Hmm? What is it?"

"Oh, Ivan," she said. "Alice has been playing outside for such a long while—I have not seen her since she set out to play this morning, and now it is almost afternoon. Can you go see what she is doing? And bring her inside for lunch, please.”

 _If she is that worried, wouldn’t it be best for her to go and call for Alice?_ He argued to himself, a tinge of annoyance from being interrupted still wavering.

“I would go if I could, but I’m in the middle of baking, and wouldn’t want the treats to burn.”

Feeling a bit ashamed at his thoughts, he nods and goes off without a second word, slipping his shoes on and closing the screened kitchen door behind him—missing the bright smile his sister flashed at him as he did. Thankfully, besides it being very humid it also happened to be quite windy—to the point that Ivan almost missed the gentle “thank you,” that came from the kitchen. It caught the tip of his ears, however, and he felt his heart fill with warmth at the kind words.

 _Hopefully_ , he thinks with a sigh and a smile as he makes his way through the untamed, grassy plain that was their backyard. _This will not take too long._

The optimistic thought is only heightened by the singing echoed across the field. He follows it, keeping an open mind to where his sister might be by thoroughly checking all her favorite places to frequent, only to have them turn up empty. Despite this he wasn't about to give up, and kept searching the vast area, his will growing more determined with every loss.

“Alice,” he said cupping his hands together to form a bullhorn. “I’m going to find you.” she kept singing—it was almost she couldn't hear him— her voice still quite distant from where he was. Even so, he felt more confidence as he walked, taking large strides in one direction rather than uncertain ones in many—it was as if Luck itself was leading him. Luck indeed, really, or else he wouldn't have this fuzzy feeling in his chest, as if this were the start of something—he believes it to be his sister surprised look when he shows her the hat he was making for her, or perhaps the treats their older sister was making them— _grander_ than anything he’s ever experienced; at the very least, something related to it. 

He moves faster as her singing begins to fade away, but soon finds himself without a guide when her singing stops abruptly, leaving him with only his knowledge of the field to direct his steps. He doesn't worry however, optimistically pointing out to himself that he was rather close when she had stopped, and that there were now a reasonable amount of places to search for her—leaving him with a fairly decent lead in his search. Alice could not be far, not at all and he-

“Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!”

_Whose voice was that?_

“Alice? Alice!” he calls out, but receives no reply. He moves quite a bit quicker this time and follows the strange voice, his previous path leaning slightly more to the left.

"Wait! Mr. Rabbit!” There's his sister's voice. He still couldn't recognize the first voice that had zipped through the field, and it worried him. Who was that?—and what state of mind were they in to do something as crazy as walk on private property? Again, he shouts his sister's name, albeit louder this time, and still he is given no response.

He frantically begins to check all over the area, his once hopeful disposition becoming more panicked with each spot found empty—however, it only begins to tether over the edge when he stumbles upon a half finished daisy chain, a whole _trail_ of trampled daisies, actually, leading farther down left and ending abruptly at a hedge. Conflicted, he examines the hedge and see that there’s a large rabbit hole under it—one with a single pedal at its entrance.

He almost laughs with relief—she’s _fine_. His sister is fine. The stranger's gone past, left their property without his sister. She's alright, hiding in a large rabbit hole from whoever had come this way—she’s here and perhaps a bit shaken up but ultimately, she was well.  

“Alice, it is me, Ivan, your brother.” there’s no answer, but this time around he feels considerably better about it, attributing it to the scare she probably had seeing someone random person in the field. He calls out to her once more, asks her to come out but is greeted with more silence. For a second, he considers going back and getting more help—believing her unable to climb back up—but decides against it, as Alice was most likely terrified at being stuck in the hole and wouldn't appreciate it one bit if he were to up and leave her to whatever could be lurking at the bottom. Perhaps he could stick his arms in a bit and reach her?

In the end, he does just that but has his time extended by a lack of results while feeling about the rabbit hole—he could not feel a little crevice or a hiding space anywhere, and nor did he find any bottom. Perhaps he could reach out just a bit more; crawl in a little, maybe he’d reach her. Maybe.

In reality he only found himself on a straightforward course, crawling farther and farther through the rabbit hole as if it were a tunnel, until it suddenly dipped down—so suddenly that Ivan barely had a moment to process what was happening before he found himself falling down what seemed to be a very deep hole.

No, that wasn't quite right. To his knowledge no rabbit could have made something so deep or detailed or _wide_ , without a great deal of help. Perhaps this was a little hole made by some children who wanted a club house hidden from view, or criminals hiding their loot, or even a place to store the deceased. _No_ , that didn't sit right with him either—this hole was much too structured, far too deep for any child or children to have made it without interference from others, or for thieves in a hurry; and not without either group having several horrid accidents along the way—at the very least a _couple_ of broken necks. Another thing to disprove his speculation was the lack of a rancid stench filling his nostrils, and of course the fact that he could not see any corpses buried in the sides of the hole or at the bottom.

Actually, he could not see the bottom at all. It was completely dark, wherever he was falling to, until he was at the exact spot he had been looking at, peering down at yet another indiscernible abyss, starting the cycle all over again. It was not as difficult for him to make out above him, but surprisingly enough, there was no trouble at all in seeing what was beside him on the apparent walls of the hole: cupboards and book-shelves: here and there he saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. He even saw a jar that read “Orange Marmalade,”—his sister's favorite.

What really caught his attention, was a sturdy-looking kitchen-sink pipe strewn across a large, old fashioned countertop. Without a second thought he grabbed it and held onto it tightly, as if his dear life depended on the lead pipe (which all it really did was increase the speed he was falling at ever so slightly).

After quite a long bit of falling he began to wonder if either he was dead, or if he was dreaming, however, neither sat right with him. Were he dead, wouldn't the transition to the afterlife be more pleasant? Or quickly, in the least. If he were dreaming, he ought to not feel pain, right?—so the pan that thwacked him shouldn't have any such sensation to him like it had, he supposed.

Other things he pondered on were along the lines of whether the hole was very deep or he was falling very slowly, how long has it been since he first fell down, when the hole would finally come to a halt, and of course, his sister's current whereabouts. Contemplating these puzzling questions was somewhat of a turning point for him, restoring his thoughts to their usual eased but calculating pace, the only downside being that within this logic-shattering place his mind could handle so much before it too was overloaded by the situation and in its weakened state brought upon him a light sleep.

Down, down, down, he fell. He did not know however, asleep as he was, and kept falling uninterrupted by the objects around him— _and_ while he plunged into further darkness, he dreamt: in his dream, he had found his sister in a tree reaching for a small cat she was calling by the name Dinah, and was asking her to be careful and leave the stray cat alone, when suddenly thump! thump! down he came upon a heap of broken sticks and crushed leaves, and the fall was over.

Another surprise: Ivan was not in the least bit hurt, and his rose to his feet in a moment, brushing off the leaves and picking up the pipe he had acquired. He looked up, but the place he had fallen from was shrouded in darkness; before him was another long passage, that unfortunately was empty, as far as he could see, however, knowing there was not a moment to waste he hurried down it like the wind, almost missing the sharp turn to a hall lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof. It was a long, low hall and there were doors all round it, but every single one of them was locked—even the peculiar one that appeared to have been previously hidden behind a curtain.

Feeling he had enough of testing if any of the doors in the hall were unlocked he left and suddenly came upon a little three-legged table made of solid glass; there was a tiny golden key and a small bottle with the label “Drink Me” tied round the neck, much to Ivan’s curiosity and suspicion. Sure, it said _“Drink me_ ” but he was certainly not in a hurry to do that—mysterious bottle upon a seemingly innocent table labeled with instructions to drink from it: it was hardly a secret that this was a recipe for disaster and so he only glanced at the bottle from a safe distance momentarily before taking the key and trying it out on the doors.

First, he tried the key on the doors laid about the hall, but to no avail—either the locks were too large or the key was too small. Next, he tried the door with the low hanging curtain and to his delight the key easily unlocked it. Peering inside, he saw that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole, and in it was a very lovely garden. Seeing its loveliness, he wished to be among the picturesque scene instead of the dark hall, but to his dismay, only his arm could really fit through.

There seemed to be no use in waiting by the little door, so he closed it, and took the small key with him back to the table, to see if there happened to be anything else he had missed, but he only ended up pacing the floor. While he did he noticed a bit about his surroundings; that there was a little glass box lying under the table—the contents within it appropriately labeled “Eat Me”—along with a fan and white kid-gloves _and_ that he was stepping in a large quantity of puddles; some that were starting to make up one big pool.

He took these items and the key in his pocket and set on the table next to the bottle. From there, he tried to piece together what any of them, what all of them, could have meant but came up short with every idea prompted, frustrating him to no end. In his frustration, he picked up the small fan and took deep, calming breaths while fanning himself to keep from potentially breaking something with his lead pipe.

  
What also didn’t help, was the eerily strong pull the bottle had on his willpower—each second gone by only made the urge to test the bottle contents stronger, and with nothing else to focus on besides questions he couldn’t answer and an exit he couldn’t find, he soon succumbed to his curiosity and ventured to taste it; he found it quite nice, actually (one that vaguely reminded him of cherry-tart, custard, pine-apple, roast turkey, toffy and hot buttered  toast, of all things) and soon finished it off.

In a matter of seconds, he felt as if his limbs were turning in on themselves, as if they were somehow beginning to reverse all the growing he had done over the years. That, and the table was becoming increasingly farther away while the puddle-covered floor was coming ever so closer.  

  
_Are the puddles growing, or am I decreasing in size?_ He wondered, growing more alarmed with each passing moment. _Or, have I gone mad?_

However, it was too true—with the combined strength of the fan and the beverage, he was becoming smaller by the minute, shrinking to five feet, then one, rapidly. In his astonishment and panic he dropped the bottle and fan, just in time to stop himself from dwindling away altogether. 

He was breathing hard, panting basically, his hands clutching the kitchen-sink pipe—that somehow shrunk with him—so tightly his knuckles switched from pink to ghost-white then purple in the faze of a second. He, now more than ever, was terribly distraught at this,  _ spectacular _ change in stature—that, combined with the sudden loss of control over surroundings and self, the mental burden building each second his sister was missing, and the nonsensical turn the atmosphere was slowly sinking into, made up the main ingredients in his nightmare of a situation; one that seemed to be worsening every second he stayed put. 

On another note, he realized that now he would have been the perfect size to reach the garden in the little door behind the curtain, had he left the key in the door, but funnily enough, this did not discourage him in the slightest—in fact, it did just the opposite: using what strength he had leftover from the size-transformation, he began to climb the table’s legs, eyeing his goal with as much perseverance he could muster. Alas, as motivated as he was the achieve his goal, the feat proved much too great; the table was much too slippery to climb, even for him, leaving the poor fellow sliding back down to square one after a tower of progress. He was given no time to dwell on it, for as soon as he slid to the bottom, he was neck deep in a what was once a small puddle, and by the looks of things, was sinking fast. Luckily, he could swim rather well, and began to make his way through the salty water, that, to his alarm, appeared to be getting deeper, larger, every minute. 

Pretty soon, the hall with doors, the small door hidden by a curtain and the glass table were all but fading figures in the distance to him.


	3. The Pool of [His Sister's] Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But she went on all the same, shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all round her, about four inches deep and reaching half down the hall."

Swimming for the past couple of minutes had taught him something very valuable— _no_ , not that this place was swarming in utter chaos, nor that if there was a chance of him receiving help from any-one that so happened to be lurking about it would have been ages ago, or any other smugly bitter comment he could come up with. The valuable information was, _less_ pessimistic: he hadn’t the smallest idea of what he was trying to achieve.

Even in the events he could not control, there was no reason he couldn’t brace himself for whatever was to storm his way—and in doing so, would hopefully lead him back home, or even better, to his sister.

First things first: where exactly was he trying to go? The obvious answer would be _anywhere_ , but looking beyond that, he decides the best option would be to opt for a sighting of dry land. After that, he could work on where he was to go from there; perhaps learn from a local where exactly he was—if there were any people here besides himself, of course—then, when he knew where he was he could work on finding his way round this place, locate his sister and the two would head home. However, it is that process of thought in particular that leaves him uncertain, and even a bit anxious, for, what if his sister had never gone through the rabbit hole? What if she had only dropped flowers there to lead the stranger on their land astray? Or, an even crazier thought: what if he had been dreaming all this time? It would make sense, wouldn't it? It would probably explain all the bizarre things happening to him throughout the past hour? Hours? Day? Days? He wasn't too sure, for, it surely felt like forever that he had been stuck here—to be specific, swimming in the middle of this lake (or was ocean more appropriate?) that seemed to have nothing bordering it on any end only minutes of being able to look back on the place he was a small while ago, and had he had eagerly wished to leave. The curious thing is, he is so far out into the water now that he’s sure even if he wanted to go back to the odd halls with strange doors and the little glass table with the peculiar trinkets on it, he couldn't, and would very likely find himself in another strange place. One even he wouldn't be able to make sense of.

These peculiar occurrences and suspicious ideas had him wishing all the more for it all to be a dream—it would have made perfect sense too, if only his luck didn't have it otherwise. Reality cast a detailed shadow over the concept of his very much active state of consciousness; his splitting headache and the constant poking of the pipe into his lower sides mere side dishes to the main course of awareness that he was burdened with, not to mention his heavy, damp clothes and the lack of anything remotely useful or dream-worthy level of convenience.

He was just swimming away, hoping that he might make it to land before he grew tired and drowned. Perhaps that was his sole purpose now: to swim until he could no longer and eventually sink to the bottom where his fate would be cast in lots alongside countless others who bowed to the waters—that is to say if he _wasn't_ the only person here.

Was it likely, that he was the only human to have been here? Logic would say that wasn't the case, but that provoked more questions, which in turn demanded more explanations, that then would become more weights on his already burdened thoughts.

For instance, if he were the only human to have come this way, wouldn't animals or creatures of the sea still lurk—and others, wouldn’t they surely attack him?—and make their presence known to any they found intriguing or threatening?

It was an uncomfortable thought, to be in a world without anything but oneself, so he repressed it, and glued his focus solely on swimming—and perhaps finding a life-form besides his own.

 He swam and swam for what felt like hours—but was actually a couple of minutes in reality made more strenuous by the fatigue he was experiencing from unwittingly daring to swim against the rather intense, mischievous, but ultimately nonthreatening currents that often arose from their slumber to cause grief to all who dared to venture into the water—his eyes stinging with salt water and his mouth sorely bitter from it, weakening his resolve considerably, until the currents take pity upon him and let him alone. The results their game had on him were not absent, and by the end of it his arms were weights  unsupported, while the judgement of his senses, he felt, were so disoriented that they weren't to be trusted. As worn down as he was, this time around, whether he knew it or not, he was making progress; no longer swimming about the same few feet in vain. And sooner or later, it shows.

 _Is that land?_  He, the best way he can, wipes the salt water away from his eyes and tries to get a better look. About a mile or less away, there appeared to be an island of some sort. He couldn't spot anyone roaming about it but now he did see a couple of birds flying overhead, and he supposes that’s somewhat comforting.

Perhaps when he ventures farther inland he would stumble upon the natives and they would provide him with enough answers to progress forward. Alternatively, there could be no inhabitants, forcing him to discern the island’s routes on his own—and most likely end up never finding a way home. At least for a long while.

Setting his soggy shoe-clad feet on land only made these two outcomes more head-splitting to think on. The two theories, were battling for dominant influence over each other in his attitude and way to go about things as if his drenched clothes, aching body and irritated senses didn't drain enough energy from him, further boggling down his already tattered condition.

Yes, it was quite nice that he had made it to land and would no longer have prospect of drowning hovering above him. But, in the same note, it was also quite nice to find a large, sturdy rock to lean upon while potentially dozing off.

 He will admit, sitting against the rock is more soothing than any self pep talk would ever be. From his place on the shore, he could see the vast, bright sky and how it perfectly blends with the mighty, yet quiet sea. He could see the different shades of blues and greens reflected ten times over by the sun’s beams in its attempts to pierce the heart of the watery depths by illuminating all that could be existing in the ocean deep. It is here, now and then, that he closes his sea-salt strung eyes and listens to the sounds around him. He hears the water laughing at him but congratulating his victory, he hears trees behind him rustling, and the birds that fly high above them, squawking away—and for a mere second he wonders what they would tell him if they could talk.

 He falls into a rather subdued sleep against the tall rock, and the world around him is soon no more than white noise in the back of his head. Then, he dreams. He dreams of water, of coming up from below the surface and seeing animals on a sandy bank. He dreams he sees his sister, wet and bedraggled with a group of equally dripping wet animals; one minute sitting in a ring listening to a Mouse, the next jogging about any way they liked and stopping whenever they so wished, then, it appeared that his sister was giving out prizes of some sort—whatever was in her pockets, he guessed—and after that, they sat down once again to hear the Mouse tell another story. The dream became even moreso peculiar after that: his sister was in a field of sunflowers, standing in front of a large blue caterpillar with its arms folded, quietly smoking a long hookah, and looking quite expectantly at her. She looked nervous, but she folded her hands and began:—

 “ ‘You are old Father William,’ the young man said,

'And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head—

Do you think, at your age, it is right?’

 

“In my youth,’ Father William replied to his son,

'I feared it might injure the brain;

But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,

Why, I do it again and again.’

 

“You are old,’ said the youth, 'as I mentioned before,

And you have grown most uncommonly fat;

Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door—

Pray, what is the reason of that?’

 

“ 'In my youth,’ said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,

'I kept my limbs very supple

By use of this ointment—one shilling the box—

Allow me to sell you a couple?’

 

“ 'You are old,’ said the youth, 'and your jaws are too weak

For anything tougher than suet;

Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak—

Pray, how did you manage to do it?’

 

“ 'In my youth,’ said his father, 'I took to the law,

And argued each case with my wife;

And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw ,

Has lasted the rest of my life.’

 

“ ‘You are old,’ said the youth, 'one would hardly suppose

That your eye was as steady as ever;

Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose—

What made you so awfully clever?’

 

“ 'I have answered three questions, and that is enough,’

Said his father. 'Don’t give yourself airs!

Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?

Be off, or I’ll kick you down-stairs!’ ”

 

“ 'But,’ pray the youth, with a curious glint.

‘How do you say the slumbering young man takes to it?

He tosses and turns and aches and squirms,

And eagerly I await to know what he’s learned.’

 

'I am not sure,’ Father William replied, with a twist of his beard and a smile oh-so sly,

‘His oblivious thinking outweighs desperation ten-to-forty-four,

The boy’s answers really are right around the corner,

Yet his attitude is that of a unprovoked mourner,’

'But surely,’ cried the youth. 'his mind and reality can make amends.’

'Why of course,’ shouted his father,

‘Every story must have an end!’ ”

His sister and the caterpillar looked up—they were practically floating. Or was it their height? Their faces were getting closer and closer until he was cornered by them, their heads practically suffocating him and distorting the surrounding area with bright, blinding waves of colors. Waves so large, they rose far above him and the others that he was certain it would make a crude decaying display out of them. The waves hadn't stopped rising actually. Every second that went by, they grew much, much higher, till he was certain this giant wall of color was the sea’s attempt to make a mockery of the sky light above. There was a weakness to the wall, however. On one side, it appeared to be sinking on its struggle to reach the top like its kin, almost as if it were weighed down by an extra component in its tale. Whatever the problem was caused by, the rest of the colorful wave could not sustain it and within mere seconds of one side reaching the top the other side collapsed; the waves of splashed color devouring both his sister and the caterpillar, and coming for him next!

The wave wholly covers him, and he is engulfed in darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters three and four are probably going to be a slow drive, seeing as I'm trying to keep in line with the spirit of the book more-so than the Disney animated film--however, it will take elements from both.


End file.
